


Baking Heaven

by fauvistfly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Baking, Fluff, GBBO references, M/M, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 06:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauvistfly/pseuds/fauvistfly
Summary: Crowley can't help but notice how much Aziraphale loves his sweets, how he savors every bite and allows each treat to bring him some kind of memory.Crowley can't help but want to be part of that, to be a reason for Aziraphale to sigh in satisfaction and reflect on a pleasant memory.So he bakes.





	Baking Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mikkimouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/gifts).

> Thank you to [bleep0bleep](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep) and [literaryoblivion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion) for doing beta reads and inspiring me!
> 
> This is a BELATED birthday gift for [mad-madam-m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkimouse/pseuds/mikkimouse), who always loves fluff and references to the Great British Bake-Off. ❤️❤️❤️

-1-

Crowley watched as Aziraphale closed his eyes for the third time during the meal. They hadn’t even gotten to the main course yet, and Aziraphale was already in the throes of gastro-ecstasy. 

“Do you know,” said Aziraphale as he carefully spread herbed butter onto the still-warm, crusty bread, “there’s not much better than freshly baked bread. Well, maybe the smell. Heavenly!” 

Breathing deeply, Crowley tried to grasp this heavenly smell that seemed to bring Aziraphale so much joy, but it didn’t seem to move him in any particular way. He watched Aziraphale chew the bread slowly, clearly savoring each bite. His heart squeezed a bit, and he started to understand.

Dabbing at his mouth, Aziraphale sighed contentedly. “I once spent some time with a wonderful baker, trying to learn the craft. I never quite got the hang of it-- perhaps I was not quite patient enough with the rising, or maybe I was too easily distracted.”

“Distracted?” prompted Crowley, trying not to fixate on the ‘wonderful baker’ comment. “Were there books or something to tempt you away from the baking? I can’t think of anything else that might cause you to shift attentions.”

“No, no,” said Aziraphale, slightly furrowing his brow before touching his silverware and slightly straightening its arrangement. “The 19th century was, um, well you know how it goes sometimes,” he said, his eyes darting around and his face slightly flushed. “Oh look! Our food has arrived.”

Crowley pursed his lips but said nothing, simply observing as Aziraphale slowly relaxed when he realized there would be no inquisition about his evasion. Though he seemed calm on the outside, his mind was racing around.

\--

“Can’t be that hard,” Crowley muttered to himself, petulantly flouring the cutting board and eyeing the bowl of rising dough with suspicion. “If some 19th century baker can do it.”

By the end, even the plants in the hall had a fine dusting of flour on their leaves, but Aziraphale’s look of surprise and joy when Crowley handed him the fresh loaf made it worthwhile. 

-2-

“I once went to a restaurant that had the most delightful sour cherry and apple marzipan pie.” 

The intimate smile on Aziraphale’s face made Crowley want to figure out what memory was associated with that particular pie. “And what made it so delightful, hmm?” 

“Well, just the most scrumptious combination of things-- the sweet fruit with just the right bite to it, the buttery crust, the combination of nuts and fruit. Oh, it was just wonderful. Not a soggy bottom, that one,” Aziraphale said with an unexpected sauciness.

Crowley only just kept himself from spewing his tea when he heard Aziraphale’s comment. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘soggy bottom’?”

“Yes, indeed. Have you ever eaten a pie and then had the crust on the bottom simply be lacking in the buttery flakiness area?” Aziraphale scrunched his nose up in disgust. “It’s just a disappointment. Cutting into a beautifully golden crust and then realizing it’s all looks and not substance.”

“Angel, are you sure we’re still talking about pies?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows rising above the dark sunglasses perched on his face. 

“Oh, really, Crowley. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about,” said Aziraphale, giving him a side-eye before taking a delicate bite of the pear pie in front of them. “Lovely. Not the best I’ve ever had, but still quite lovely.” 

\--

Crowley pulled out the cherry pie, a big smirk on his face. “Look at that, a beautiful golden crust.” He carefully placed it on the counter and then confidently pulled out a sharp knife.

The knife pressed easily into the bottom, showing its sogginess. “What? How?” 

Eight tries later, Crowley was ready to toss every baking utensil into the bin before strangling a particularly blue-eyed baker. “I swear that Paul Hollywood is a demon wreaking havoc on my bottoms! Bloody hell, what am I doing wrong??”

And then, on that lucky thirteenth try, Crowley felt a bubble of hope start a fragile ascent inside him. The knife tapped gently against the flaky golden bottom of the pie. “Mary Berry, you angel.”

Crowley tried to be nonchalant when he presented the pie after dinner. “Just figured I’d whip something up. Not like it’s hard or anything,” he said, trying not to be too obvious about his nervousness.

When Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed after tasting the pie, Crowley finally breathed.

-3-

Aziraphale’s face lit up brighter than holiday lights when he saw the platter of biscuits.

Crowley laughed and pushed the platter closer to him. “D’you know, Angel, I think you like holiday biscuits more than the actual holiday.” He watched with affection as Aziraphale twiddled his fingers over the platter, trying to choose which to try first. “What on earth would your Almighty say if they knew you preferred going to a bakery over seeing another nativity scene?”

Aziraphale gave him a look before sniffing and settling in. “I’m sure the Almighty knows how I give thanks when I come across a particularly scrummy biscuit.” He ate his first choice with deliberate bites, took a sip of tea, and then began to review the platter for his second choice. “These look so pretty, but perhaps too perfect. There’s something endearing about homemade cookies and their slight imperfections. Makes them all the more lovable and delicious,” said Aziraphale with a soft smile. 

“You do like your symbolism, don’t you,” Crowley said with an indulgent look on his face. He scrunched his nose up at the platter and wondered if they all tasted the same. “How do you even decide which one to eat?” 

Aziraphale looked up in surprise. “You know, I don’t know. I just choose the one that calls to me, but of course I must try them all. I can’t have one thinking it doesn’t look appetizing. So the order or even the time it takes doesn’t matter in the end, you see. Eventually I want it all,” he said simply. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. “Biscuits, you mean?”

Aziraphale briefly looked him in the eye before glancing away. “Yes, of course.”

—

Crowley had finally gotten the biscuits smelling and tasting the way he felt they should, and that had taken hours. He hadn't even decided what kind of decorating he wanted to do. As he scrolled through recipe after recipe of royal icing and photo after photo of decorating ideas, he felt his edges unraveling. He threw the tablet on the couch and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Why do I even bother,” Crowley muttered to himself before getting up and stretching. He wandered into the kitchen, looking at the rows and rows of biscuits lined up on cooling racks, ranging from burnt edges to overpale circles. Stopping in front of a particularly golden biscuit, one he felt was just right for Aziraphale, Crowley thought about why he bothered. 

He thought about the little expressions Aziraphale made when he talked about food—enjoying it, learning about it, gaining new experiences from it. They’d been on Earth for thousands of years, and Aziraphale still met the days with excitement and hope. It was refreshing, made Crowley’s supposedly jaded heart pump with hope as well. Hope and, if he allowed himself a little honesty, love.

He knew exactly why he bothered.

\--

Crowley was quite proud of how his biscuits came out. Rows of little white angels and little black demons, intermingling in a little metal tin, their icing sometimes smudged and mixing together-- he noted the symbolism and moved on. When Aziraphale let him into the bookshop, he shook the tin teasingly.

“Put some tea on, would you? Something black and strong, if you don’t mind,” Crowley said before sinking into his favorite armchair. 

“And what have you got there?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes zooming in on the tin even as he moved around to get the kettle ready. “Smells buttery.”

“You know exactly what it is,” Crowley said with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “Just like I know exactly what you’ve been doing.” He held the tin out to Aziraphale.

Gently opening the container, Aziraphale looked at its contents and then gave Crowley a fond smile, his face softening with emotion.

Crowley wanted to avoid Aziraphale’s eyes—their earnestness made him slightly uncomfortable, like they thought too highly of him—but he forced himself to meet his gaze. “I made them for you. Because they make you happy.”

Aziraphale’s face began to dimple with happiness, but Crowley cut him off with a wave of his hand before he could say anything. 

“Doesn’t make me a good person,” said Crowley, sniffing contemptuously. “Just means that _you’re_ a good person. Because, you know, you inspire me to do good things.” Crowley swallowed the last words, almost not wanting to say them. “I’m still a demon though!” he spat out, wanting to dispel the quietness that had pervaded the moment. 

Aziraphale came and sat at the ottoman at Crowley’s feet, their knees touching. “Oh, of course you are. I never forget that about you,” he said softly, looking down at how their legs intersected. 

Crowley gave him a look of puzzlement, the question in his eyes and the fear of the answer in his downturned mouth. 

Standing up, Aziraphale leaned in and murmured, “Because _you_ inspire me to do _bad_ things.” He then backed away slowly, reached into the tin for a smudged demon cookie, and took a small bite. 

Crowley got up slowly, his posture projecting his next move with every step. He didn’t stop until he was right in Aziraphale’s space, the air mingling between them. “What kind of bad things?” Crowley murmured, his eyes flitting from eyes to lips back to eyes.

“Not really bad things.” Aziraphale smiled softly. 

Crowley raised his eyebrows in question, frozen as he felt Aziraphale’s hand on his chest, gently sliding towards his neck.

Aziraphale’s hand rested right at the base of Crowley’s neck, his thumb nestled right below his Adam’s apple. “Just slightly bad things,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips. But before Crowley could press forward, Aziraphale turned his head slightly, letting his cheek slide against Crowley’s, his hand tightening for a moment before dancing across skin as he walked away.

Skin still tingling from the whispering touches, Crowley closed his eyes momentarily before taking a deep breath and spinning around. He was about to ask what Aziraphale was about, but then he caught a glimpse of that half smile, peeking out from above a tea cup, a knowing look on that tempting face.

“You should have a biscuit, Crowley. You should always sample your own baking, and they are quite good,” said Aziraphale, turning his back on him to admire the iced biscuits spread before him. 

Crowley quietly strode forward, smiling to himself when he heard a sharp inhale when he pressed his body carefully against Aziraphale’s back, reaching past him to grab a biscuit in the shape of an angel. He waited for Aziraphale to look at him before taking a large bite of the biscuit, beheading the angel with a chomp. 

“That _is_ good,” Crowley said with gusto, licking his lips and then sucking the icing off his thumb. “You know, you’ve been inspiring me to do all this good baking,” Crowley said, taking another bite, “and you’ve been able to sample all that I’ve created as a result.”

“Indeed I have,” Aziraphale said, a slight flush on his face the only evidence of how easily Crowley had affected him.

Crowley nodded and then wiped his mouth with his hand before returning to his favorite place on the sofa, legs akimbo. “It only seems fair that I sample what you’ve learned from me. Seeing as it’s been my demon nature that has been so inspiring.” He tilted his head to look searchingly at Aziraphale and then gestured to the seat next to him.

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth several times before finally shaking his head and then firming his shoulders, as if reaching a decision. He came forward and sat down next to Crowley, hands folded in his lap. “That seems fair.”

A smile spread across Crowley’s face, and he nudged Aziraphale with his knee. “Well, then,” said Crowley, nudging Aziraphale again. “You’ll subtly drop hints to me what I’m baking next, and then I’ll subtly drop hints to you about…” Crowley let his voice trail off, but his eyes finished the sentence.

Despite his eyes nervously darting about, Aziraphale couldn’t quite suppress the pleased smile on his face. “Did I ever tell you about the time I had the most amazing cream puff?”

“No, do tell,” Crowley said delightedly, enjoying the pink blush deepening on Aziraphale’s face. “I do love tucking into a good cream puff.” 

He settled back into the couch and let Aziraphale’s lovely voice wash over him, his heart rising in the warm oven of Aziraphale’s presence.


End file.
